Displacement
by LoneTread
Summary: [Night Stalker 2005.] Leah Simmons was only trying to stay awake. Now, she must try to find her way back home.
1. Arrival

**Displacement**

**A/N:** This was inspired by the X-Files fic "Peal of Thunder". I borrowed, with permission, a couple of ideas from that story that I absolutely could not have written better myself; if you've read it and something sounds familiar, that's why. Also, Keyser, WV, is a real place, completely fictionalized here. Finally, **this is your warning for major spoilers for every produced episode (through "What's the Frequency, Kolchak?") and the entire series as a whole**. All insights provided in the DVD commentaries are also fair game. If you don't have the DVD and don't want anything ruined for you, then don't read.

**Timeline:** Mostly set between "Timeless" and "What's the Frequency, Kolchak?". Having seen those episodes is not necessary for understanding. Later (likely in a sequel) this will be post-"Frequency".

**Disclaimer:** If I owned it, do you really think it would have been cancelled? I think not.

* * *

**Chapter One: Arrival **

The sun has long since set on Keyser, West Virginia. All its sane inhabitants are doubtless asleep. Which would, being truthful, explain why I haven't yet left the couch to even begin to contemplate the idea of rest.

Rather, I remain transfixed before the television, on which a new DVD plays before my tired gaze.

_Five more minutes and the episode will be over and I'll go to sleep_, I promise myself. _Five more minutes._ Meanwhile, my eyelids are growing heavy, my eyes drifting shut. Just as the show ends, my breathing begins to gradually even out, and I know I am slipping into sleep.

Jerking awake, I look around, expecting to see with my exhaustion-blurred vision the credits rolling across the screen, accompanied by the familiar music.

I don't even see my living room. Instead, the shadowy wall of some building or another is before me as though it had always been there. The couch, too, is gone, replaced by the dirty, half-paved ground of an alleyway. A few yards down, a drowsy homeless man stares at me for a second, rubs his eyes in seeming astonishment, and then rolls over and goes back to sleep.

It strikes me that I should feel afraid, and yet I don't. I'm far too stunned and confused to be frightened.

I get to my feet slowly, dusting myself off and considering my predicament. Grateful necessity has woken me sufficiently, I walk from the alley onto the sidewalk and take in my surroundings. I don't recognize the buildings or the streets, and I finally feel a moment of fear.

_Where am I?_

As I stand still at the mouth of the alley, uncertain, my mind is whirring. An idea comes to me and I look out at the street again, this time focusing my gaze on the cars. I note California license plates on each as they pass and my blood chills. If I hadn't been awake before, that sight would have done it.

The only thing I'm grasping is that nothing is making sense anymore. I can come up with nothing to explain my sudden cross-country relocation, or what I should or can do about it.

The night is warm, but I'm shaking.

Finally, my common sense returns. Wherever I am, I need a place to sleep, and I doubt home is nearby.

I start off down the sidewalk. The streets don't feel terribly safe, and I walk as one paranoid, looking over my shoulder intermittently and giving the shadows a wide berth as much as I can.

Luck is with me, for it isn't long before I see bright lights illuminating what is clearly a hospital. I'm flooded with relief and jog to the doors, praying that the people here will be able to help me sort out and put back together the pieces of my reality.

---

At first, the hospital staff seems confused by my presence; I had not been injured and was not in pain, so what was I doing there?

My explanation is so fractured and lacking, though, that they are quick to agree I'm at the right place. And at long last, I am given the chance to sleep.

When I wake in the morning, I'm disappointed to find myself still in this unfamiliar world. I'd been half-hoping it would all have been a dream. But the luck of last night has run dry, it seems.

As I'm thinking about these things, a nurse enters the room. "Leah?" she says. I turn to look at her.

"There's something I think you should know," she continues. "We...well, we haven't been able to find any record of you."

"What?" I stammer. It shouldn't be surprising, given how I had arrived here, but it is nonetheless.

"As far as our records, and those in West Virginia, are concerned – you, Leah Simmons, do not appear to exist."


	2. Clarity

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own the show. Too bad, really.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Clarity**

For the moment, I am silent. Eventually, I know, I will have to respond, but for now I'm quiet, thinking.

Somehow, I have to give the hospital an adequate explanation. Choice Number One, the truth, is starting to look far less than adequate. I know the nurse will never believe me. I doubt anyone will.

My only other option is to lie, and this I do as convincingly as I can. "I don't know," I say. "I guess I must be someone else, someone I've forgotten. I mean, I don't even remember how I got here…." My voice trails off.

The nurse seems to buy my amnesia story, a stroke of good fortune for which I'm glad. She nods at my assessment of the situation, then excuses herself to leave the room for a minute. When she returns, it is with a newspaper in hand.

"Want to catch up?" she asks, offering it to me.

"Thanks," I reply gratefully, accepting it and skimming the front page. My gaze falls first on the date, one in late 2005. I simply absorb the information, pleased that the discrepancy is only about six months. I have no strength left to be surprised by anything else, I suppose.

Until, that is, I take in the rest of the paper and finally notice the name.

In my hands is a copy of the _Los Angeles Beacon_.

_Coincidence_, I assure myself, _that's all._ But, not really believing it, I browse the articles, searching.

All thought of coincidence goes out the window when I find what I'm looking for. Beneath a headline about the mystified authorities working a missing persons' case is the byline of Carl Kolchak.

I freeze, the pieces beginning to come together as, at the same time, everything that once made sense shatters.

Meanwhile, the nurse addresses me. "Anything jump-starting your memory?"

I shrug and shake my head.

"Oh," she says. "Well, maybe if you just start walking around you'll be able to figure things out. If not, you can always come back."

"That's what I was thinking," I respond, nodding. After a moment I hold up the paper and add, "Can I take this with me?"

"Feel free," answers the nurse agreeably. "We've got lots here. _Beacon_ being right up the street, and all."

"Is it?" I try not to sound too eager.

"Yeah," she says, crossing to the window and pointing down the road. "See that streetlight? The building just past it, on the left – that's them."

I nod with a smile that I hope befits an interesting bit of trivia I don't care much about and will forget by tomorrow. All the while, I'm burning the location into my mind, knowing that that's where what could possibly be my only hope for safety, for help, for answers, lies.

---

Once I'm released from the hospital, I head down the sidewalk purposefully. As I wait at the corner for the light to change so I can cross the street, I begin to wonder at just how this is going to sound. How can I get them to believe me? How can I even convince them to hear me out? I'm not sure, but I know it's not going to be easy.

By the time I near the building, I've decided to play it by ear and hope for the best. I approach the doors with this plan in mind only to have Carl walk out the same doors mere yards away from me.

Uncharacteristically, I throw caution to the winds. "Mr. Kolchak!" I call.

He turns. "I need to talk to you," I say.

"Sorry," he replies, looking confused and not extremely apologetic, "I have to go do an interview. I'll be back in a little while."

Soon he's gone and, with nothing better to do, I commandeer a bench and sit down to wait for him.

True to his word, it's not long before he returns. I walk up to him once more, and his expression tells me he's more than a little surprised. "You're still here?"

"Well, I've got nowhere else to go."

"Why's that?" he asks. He clearly would have been happier to see me go away.

"Because," I reply sincerely, "I don't exist."


	3. Truth

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine. Thanks for rubbing it in.

**A/N:** I've been holding off on posting this chapter for quite a while, as Chapter 5 is being painfully difficult to write, so I wanted to give myself as much time as possible. However, I think enough time has passed to warrant Chapter 3 for you guys. Also: A sincere thank you to GhostWolf7 for her help in working out a particularly difficult bit of this chapter. It may never have gotten finished otherwise.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Truth**

The moment the words are out of my mouth, the look he's giving me changes completely. At long last, he appears interested. I can see I've at least got my metaphorical foot in the door, and I feel some measure of relief.

"Come on," he says finally, motioning with one hand for me to follow him into the building.

In minutes I'm sitting before Carl, Perri, and Jain, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that I'm on trial. Kolchak starts to introduce the others when I interrupt. "I know," I say.

"Okay," replies Carl with a shrug. "So, who are _you_, exactly?"

"My name is Leah Simmons," I tell him. "I'm eighteen years old and I'm from Keyser, West Virginia."

"And yet you don't exist." The statement is full of incredulity, like he's playing along with some game he doesn't really understand.

"Right. Where I'm from, you don't either."

They stare at me. "Wait, _what_?" Jain manages, puzzled.

"We're not talking West Virginia, here, are we?" Perri's tone makes it clear the words aren't really a question.

I shake my head. "What would you say if I told you you were all on TV?"

There is a long pause. "That's…crazy," Kolchak offers finally.

"No crazier than hellfire, and you were all ready to believe _that _one," I respond, amazing myself with my bravado.

His eyes widen, then narrow as he scowls only partly in jest. Jain gives me a tentative smile, still looking astonished, and Perri smirks.

"She's right, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." He rolls his eyes and his gaze comes to rest on me. "But, seriously, this is ridiculous."

"I can prove it," I insist. "Ask me something."

Kolchak shakes his head. "Tell me something."

And so I do. After a second of thought, I start at the beginning. "That's Perri Reed and Jain McManus," I say. "You met them your first day here, when you stole her story. The one about Emily Gale. You thought maybe she was murdered by the same thing that killed your wife, but she wasn't – it was the dog…things. Your wife, her name was Irene. She died – " I think about it, "oh, a year and a half ago, or so. A monster did it, but lots of people think it was you."

I pause. Carl appears unconvinced, I notice upon glancing at him. "But I could look all that up, couldn't I?"

He nods. "What else?"

"You…um…," I hesitate, finally repeating, "Ask me something. I don't want to tell something I shouldn't."

Kolchak looks at me, his expression calculating, but he says only, "Koreatown. What happened?"

I recount as much as I can remember of the events, being sure to include details that I know would have remained out of the papers. As I speak, I watch their faces. Perri's eyes widen at my mention of the bracelet; Jain, meanwhile, looks awestruck when I relate his experience not only fully, but accurately. Kolchak is merely passive, unreadable.

The story comes to a close, and I make eye contact with each of them earnestly. "I haven't exactly had much of a chance to read the papers here, but that can't all have been in there. If I'm lying," I say, "tell me how I could have known that."

There is silence for several long seconds.

Then Carl, looking at the other two but speaking to me, finally admits, "You couldn't. It's just not possible."

The words elicit nods of agreement from Perri and Jain, and I can't help but smile, happy and thankful that I'm not alone in this world anymore.

My grin widens as I hear Jain say unsurely, "So, this TV show…is it good?"

"'Was'," I'm forced to correct him. "It was, but it…well, it got cancelled. Apparently, the network…um…doesn't like monsters."

"What?" he says in disbelief. "Come on. No one _likes_ monsters – "

I don't hear the end of his sentence. I'm simply laughing too hard.


End file.
